Unveiled
by popcorngoo
Summary: Sansa is alone and without companionship in King's Landing. Surprisingly will Sandor be the companion she needs in these dark times? What goes on between the two may look like nothing, but underneath the pretenses something more is planted and blossoms between the two most unlikely of people. (I'm bad at summaries D:)
1. Chapter 1

In the words of House Stark: ANOTHER CHAPTER IS COMING.

Hey guys! I'm thinking about making this one a long story(like more than 5 chapters worth) about Sansa and Sandor. Mostly it'll just be musings. Perhaps there will be actual plot...hopefully. And maybe some of them will just be plain smut or fluff. Who knows? It might just be a melting pot? But in order to have maybe somewhat of a timeline I'm starting out where Sansa is captured at King's Landing, and I might branch out til the Blackwater incident. Aaaaand quite possibly make this an AU with Sandor and Sansa on the run from Lannisters. Yeah. This is my plan. But whatever. Plans are for nerds. *throws terribly constructed 'plan' out the window* Anywhoooooooo. This first chapter isn't much. No, really. Nothing too important happens. But since these two are kinda...subtle in their interaction I'm hoping that's okay.

PS. Would you guys like other pairings involved as well? Gendrya?

Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones or any of it's characters. That belongs to the incredible genius(and insanely sadistic) George R.R Martin. (no really he's a sadist. Why else would he put all this effort into constructing wonderful characters and then putting them through hell only to kill them off? Because he likes to torture his readers. Hence SADIST)

* * *

**Teasing**

Sansa sat at the table in the great hall, trying to keep the melancholy off her face. It was scary how sometimes she could lose herself in the mold, the mold she was trying to fit in at King's Landing. She was the naïve and innocent little girl, always dreaming of knights and romance, or so she desperately tried to pretend. No, those dreams died along with her father. Sansa would stare at herself for hours in the mirror, not out of vanity, but only so she could remember who she, Sansa Stark, really was underneath the layers of falsehood. However, after so long, so many weeks turned into months, of trying to keep her head above water it grew harder and harder to paste that insipid little smile on her face.

So there she was, sitting next to the Queen, while Joffrey sat at the head of the table. She wasn't sure if she was glad or not at the fact. His mother was just as venomous as he, but not quite so vindictive towards her. Sansa could still feel a dull ache in her abdomen from yesterday. If she sat just _so _she could almost forget the discolored bruises lying underneath her silken gown. Almost.

She wasn't even sure why there was a feast going on at the moment. It was probably best that she not know anyway. Knowing Joffrey it could be a celebration feast for some battle Lord Tywin won against her brother Rob, just to spite her. Sansa spotted Jeyne at the far end of the table. She and Jeyne had not spent as much time together lately, perhaps due to the Queen's influence? It might be wise not to involve her too much anyway, lest she catch the eye of Joffrey and be used as another instrument for her torture, just like her father. The two friends locked eyes and offered the other a quick smile.

Sansa noticed the guards standing by. She kept her gaze away from the ones who had beaten her, not noticing the leer Ser Meryn sent her way. She saw the Hound standing at attention along the wall. She tried to gage his expression, but he wouldn't spare her a glance.

Shrugging her shoulders she dug into her meal. The food was absolutely delicious. Sansa stuffed herself, as politely as a lady could, until she could not eat another bite. Then the dessert was shuffled in by some servants. Sansa eyed the lemon cakes on a platter nearby. Oh those were her favorite, but she really shouldn't…. Daintily she scooped one right up and took a little nibble.

'Oh my…' It was as if heaven had been poured into her mouth. The texture, the flavoring, the soft white icing on the top was just perfect. That lemon cake really hit the spot. Sansa could feel her eyelids flutter closed as a small, "mmm", escaped her throat. She ate every last bite. She even savored the leftover crumbs on her fingers. She could feel eyes on her as she stuck her finger in her mouth. Looking around the room, she tried to pinpoint it as she sucked the white frosting from her fingers. Finally her eyes laid upon Sandor. She startled when she realized that he had been watching her this entire time. Quickly she pulled her slightly moist hand away from her mouth with a pop, and reached for a cleaning cloth. 'I can't believe he saw me acting so unladylike!' Sansa thought with a blush. Unconsciously she licked her lips as she tried to put her appearance back in order.

She tried to glance up at him again, but he wasn't looking at her anymore. Slightly disappointed, and wondering why in the _world _she would be disappointed at that Sansa excused herself once the meal was winding down.

She didn't see a certain man's eyes as they followed after her retreating form however, and, had she been looking closer, she would have noticed the white knuckled fists clenched tightly at his side the entire time.

Sandor replayed that night, along with many other _fond_ memories he had of the little bird, over again in his mind. He remembered glancing over and catching the expression on her face as she first bit into that damned lemon cake, the sheer bliss plainly written there for all to see. He saw with darkened eyes as she sucked on those dainty pale fingers of hers, the way her cheeks hollowed and her pink lips puckered.  
An imperceptible shiver ran down his spine when her eyes met his, and for a brief moment he pictured her doing this for him. He imagined a scene where Sansa, innocent little bird that she is, in his bed sucking on things she ought not to and looking at him as she is now. When she removed her fingers and licked her lips a final time Sandor could only stare fixatedly at the wall, lest he come undone at the seams.

Most times the little bird went unnoticed due to her withdrawn countenance these days, but judging from the looks of the other Kingsguard Sandor deciphered that more than enough men had been watching much to his own displeasure.

* * *

**Sparring**

Sansa was walking through the halls with her handmaidens at her side. During her time at Kings Landing she has learned to never be strolling about the grounds without them. They provided the perfect barrier to unwanted attention. However, none of them were a comfort to her. More than likely two were spies for the Queen, and the others had their own allegiances which were certainly not Sansa.

She was on her way to the sept to pray, as she usually did, when she heard clanging and grunting noises. The sound of steel on steel was a familiar one to her and she recognized it immediately. It sounded like they were being attacked! Sansa's heart fluttered in her throat. She remained calm however, and found a small window on the way. Peering out of it she saw the men in the training grounds. They were practicing. Placing a hand over her chest she breathed out a little sigh of relief.

'Oh good heavens! Of course that's what they were doing….How stupid of me. If the Hound were to have been here he certainly would have called me a stupid little girl.'

And, just as she was pondering what the Hound would say, it seemed he was summoned by her thoughts for he entered the training arena that very moment and began to spar with another knight.

"My Lady?",one of her handmaidens questioned, confusion lining her face. Sansa turned to her, almost completely forgetting that they were there.

"I just wanted to watch the men fight, is all", she offered by way of explanation. Then she turned back to the window, the sept forgotten in vein of this new entertainment. Usually she wasn't very fond of any sort of activity where you were outside getting dirty and sweaty. However, the Hound was quite impressive to watch in his element, even to someone as ignorant of swordplay as she. He was of course, taller and larger than any of the men out there, giving him an advantage. The knight he was fighting however was young and agile. While Sandor was indeed very experienced and fast as a whip, his days of constant battle had taken a toll on his body. It was an interesting match to say the least. If Sandor could get a blow on the lad then assuredly he would fall, but the boy was darting left and right. It was like the Hound was trying to catch smoke. Whenever his blade looked as if it would lop his arm right off, he would disappear a few steps the other way.

The Hound wasn't stupid though. He quickly learned that he was outmatched in speed and dexterity. Sandor feigned left, the knight saw it and darted away. Unfortunately for him, he darted right where Sandor wanted him. He never even saw it coming. A blow on the head with the flat of his blade knocked him right out. All the other knights cheered, and a few gave some hearty laughs at the boy's expense.

Although Sandor won, he didn't seem to smile or be pleased at the matter. He scooped the lad up over his shoulder and deposited him on a nearby bench. He reached down at his hip for his flask. Uncorking it he poured some of the contents out on the boy's face. Spluttering and coughing he bolted upright. Dazed and confused the two exchanged words. Sansa couldn't hear from so far away, but she found it interesting that Sandor almost….in his own way, seemed to be looking out for the young knight.

She was thinking on the matter when once again one of her handmaidens brought her out of her thoughts.

"Pardon me, My Lady. But would you like to get a closer view? The walk to the training grounds is not far from the sept." Sansa's head snapped up, and she stared at the other women around her. Suddenly she felt very exposed, being in the middle with all of their eyes staring at her.

"No. Thank you. I think I will pray some other time. I would like to go back to my chambers now." Sansa kept her voice neutral, yet courteous.

Once she was back inside the confines of her room she excused them all. 'Finally', she thought, 'A bit of privacy'. Sansa lay down and immersed herself in her thoughts.

* * *

**Contemplating**

A knock on her door woke her. Blearily rubbing her eyes she wondered when she had fallen asleep. She stifled a sleepy yawn, as she stretched her arms above her head. It was dark as night in her room. Combing her fingers through her long tresses she hoped she was presentable enough. Another knock sounded before a voice mumbled, "I'm coming in."

Her eyes widened as Sandor Clegane strode into her bed chambers.

Blushing, Sansa spoke from her place on the disheveled bed. "I'm sorry Ser. I was asleep."

He scoffed as he replied, "I'm no Ser. As soon as you get that through your pretty head the better."

Sansa did not know where to look, so her eyes kept darting around the room. "I do not know what else to call you."

The Hound stood staunchly in the middle of her bedchamber, one hand resting on the hilt of his scabbard, giving her a steely eyed squint.

"Everybody else usually just calls me either the Hound, or Sandor. Pick one", he drawled.

Sansa thought it over as she stared at her pale hands twisting in her lap. "Well, calling you the Hound is like calling you an a-animal. And I don't like that very much." Her words had faltered when she dared to glance up at him only to blush again when she noticed his piercing stare fixated on her.

He just shrugged his shoulders as if it didn't matter to him, which it probably didn't.

"And calling you by your birth name just seems so…." Her words trailed off as she fumbled for the right word. _Intimate_. She wanted to say, but saying the word aloud seemed like it would also be improper. A man and a woman, alone, in a room, discussing what to call one another was like discussing the intricacies of their relationship. If one wanted to call the other by their very intimate birth name, didn't that speak volumes about where they wanted the relationship to go?

'Woah', Sansa thought, 'I am thinking about this _way_ too much. What relationship? We don't even know each other. Not really anyway.'

After Sansa had sort of trailed off her sentence Sandor took it upon himself to pick it right back up again.

"Come with me girl. You are late for your evening supper, and the King has sent for you."

Startled out of the weird direction her thoughts had been taking Sansa stood up and taking a quick glance at herself in the looking glass she deemed herself presentable. Sandor was waiting for her by the door and followed behind her as she strode out.

The walk to the dining hall was swift and silent. Sansa did not want to make the King wait any longer, lest she anger him further. As for the silence she felt that there was not much to say between the two. Sandor did not seem like one for light-hearted conversation. She feared that if she were to remark on the loveliness of the weather he would only bark out a comment about her inane chirping, or if she were to comment on the fact that she acquired a new gown today he would laugh cruelly at her and say, "Pretty clothes for the pretty bird", or some such nonsense.

She sighed, her whole body deflating. She did not understand it. For some reason she wanted, no _needed_ Sandor. As a friend. She needed to talk to him. Without all the courtesies and the pretenses that entrapped her here. She was desperate for one _true _friend. And somehow, she felt that Sandor could be that friend. He was harsh, brutally so. He often laughed in her face and called her stupid, naïve, and foolish. 'But he's also called you pretty', a tiny voice reminded her. Yes, but what good does being pretty get you? It gets you an awful fiancée like King Joffrey. It gets you leers from the other men in the kingsguard that you're not entirely sure of the meanings behind. And it gets you pinned to the ground with your legs spread apart as four other sweating men are above you unbuckling their pants as they-

Sansa closed her eyes tightly. She wouldn't think on it.

Sandor glanced down at the girl, noticing her strange behavior. He didn't comment on it though. Her thoughts were her own, and he would not encroach upon them, even if he was pretty sure he could take a few guesses as to what they were. Sansa _had _gotten better at concealing her emotions since coming to King's Landing, but she couldn't fool him. He had a way of knowing things about people. Perhaps it was due to finding out the cruelties of life at such a young age, but people didn't put on a farce in front of him. More often than not they didn't care what _he _thought. Or perhaps it was simply because he was a pessimist and just assumed the worst about everybody that he was usually right. Either way he seemed especially attuned to the Stark girl.

The two were immersed in their own thoughts as they went into the dining room. Sandor went to his place to watch over the King, and Sansa went to the table, begging pardons for being late. It was most discourteous after all.

* * *

And voila! See? I told you it wasn't much in the way of excitement. Please review and comment though! I eagerly await feedback! xD


	2. Chapter 2

****Here's another story! xD I know it's been awhile. And I'm sorry. I've had a bit of a writer's block. I should warn people that this chapter is a bit racy. So if you don't like sexual themes don't read this one, cuz that's pretty much all it is. And for those of you who _do _enjoy such things then you'll like this one.

Disclaimer: I don't own game of thrones or it's characters. They belong to George R.R. Martin.

* * *

**Fantasy**

Sandor sat in his room. The cramped space wasn't much, but it was a lot better than some of the shit holes he's squatted in. There was a plain single bed in the corner that was too small for his large frame. One window was the only decoration that lined the opposite wall, and gave him the luxury of looking out onto the dirty streets of King's Landing. His room was so high up that the smell, at least, didn't reach him. There was a chest at the foot of his bed with his clothes and meager belongings. He kept a number of weapons, along with different kinds of armor in his dresser. Normally a soldier of his station could not afford so many sets of swords and steal plated armor, but because he was the King's dog he made a bit more coin than most.

He was just sitting down on his bed sharpening one of his blades. It was just mind-numbing enough to keep him busy until it was time for him to sleep. Plus his steel needed to be kept sharp. Joffrey made sure it never grew dull in his line of work. Then, two soft knocks rang through his ears. He got up and stretched his muscles as he strode towards the door.

He opened it and saw Sansa on the other side. He was taken aback to say the least. He didn't think she even knew where his room was let alone would come down to see him. She was staring up at him with those round doe eyes of hers and trying to school her expression into one of calm confidence. He could tell. But he saw her white hands fidgeting with her skirts and smirked at her.

"What brings the little bird to the Hound's kennel?" he asked mockingly.

She just blinked up at him and looked around nervously. "Can I come in?" she asked in a small voice. He quirked an inquisitive brow, but moved aside for her. She ducked in, her ginger hair acting as a shield for her face. She surveyed his lodgings, and for some reason he felt a bit awkward. Never had he expected female company and his dingy little space was certainly not what the Stark girl was accustomed to. He shuffled from foot to foot.

The silence had drawn out, but he didn't want to be the one to break it, so he waited. Finally she turned around and said, "Sandor…I-I…I".

"Out with it girl!" he snarled. She flinched at his words, but they drove her to action. He saw her eyes slant with determination and her shoulders straighten as she closed the gap between them and flung herself into his arms. He caught her because he didn't know what else to do with her. Her soft lips clamped onto his own. Needless to say Sandor was shocked.

Sansa probably had never kissed anyone before in her life, yet here she was trying for everything she was worth. Her mouth pressed into his own scarred one forcefully. If she had been a stronger girl it might have even hurt a little. Sandor couldn't figure out what was going on. Why was she there, in his arms, kissing the daylights out of him? But then he quickly realized that all of those questions didn't matter. The fact was that she was there. And he was fool enough to not push her away. His hands cupped her back, his fingers spanning the length of her small waist. He undid the intricate knot of hair at the back of her head. The rest of her tresses spilled out on her shoulders and down her back. The silken strands felt like heaven on his battle scarred hands.

He dominated the kiss with his more experienced mouth. Her head tilted back with the force of it. It felt like her petal-soft lips were scorching his own. She lit up his insides with the simplest of touches, and he reciprocated with his own impassioned caresses. He nipped her gently and she let out a little gasp. She ripped her mouth away for breath, the plump flesh bruised and inviting. He covered the exposed and tender skin of her pale neck with his kisses, nipping and sucking where he went.

Her breath hitched when he happened upon a particularly sensitive spot. Her chest rose up and down rapidly. She looked the perfect picture with her flame colored hair flowing, eyes fluttered shut, head tilted back in pleasure, and rosy lips forming an 'o'.

"Sansa", he whispered in reverence. He wasn't even aware of how gentle his voice sounded at that moment. Her eyes opened at the utterance of her name. She smiled warmly up at him and bit her lip. His trousers became uncomfortably cramped. Sansa biting her lip at him had to be the sexiest thing he had ever witnessed.

Then she got on her knees. Sandor's mind became very cloudy at that moment. All he was aware of was her small hands unlacing his breeches. He felt the tug and pull as they slid down his thighs. He was distinctly aware of her hot breath puffing against his member as it sprang free and hardened even more. She eyed him, obviously a bit taken aback at the sheer size of him. Then she licked her lips, causing more blood to pool in his lower region, and wrapped her small lips around the tip.

Okay _that _had to be the sexiest thing he had ever witnessed. And had he been a weaker man, his knees would have definitely buckled. Her hot, wet mouth sucked on his head. Sandor groaned. She looked back up at his face, gaging his reactions. She moved her head forward, taking more of him in. He could feel her little tongue moving around him, massaging him. He took her hand and placed it on his shaft. She began to pump in tandem with the thrusting motion of her head.

She was so inexperienced, but her instincts seemed to know exactly what to do. He couldn't think, couldn't even form words other than "fuck". Sansa was _actually _giving him a blow job. And a damn good one at that. 'What the fuck is going on?' he questioned. This was so out of character for her. Sansa was innocent. He didn't think she even knew what a penis _was _let alone what to do with it. He brought his hand up to the back of her head to play with her hair. She sped up the pace and he groaned in the back of his throat. She made a little purring noise at that, which caused his balls to tighten. That felt fucking _good. _Even whores in a brothel don't always do that one.

"Fuuuuuck", he articulated. She looked up at him and smirked. _Smirked_. His little Sansa was supposed to be a pure as snow maiden, yet somehow right before his very eyes turned into a vixen. Her soft, white hand cupped his balls and played with them. 'Holy shit', he thought. 'This isn't Sansa. This can't be.' The combination of her hand pumping his shaft, her tongue and mouth sucking and stroking, and her other naughty hand massaging his sack was pushing him to the edge. It was just too much. He hadn't laid with any whores in too long, and at the first touch of his little bird he had become aroused. She was too sweet, too wet, too hot, too everything.

"Sansa….stop" Groan. "I'm going to-." Suddenly she surged forward and took his whole girth in her mouth, his tip hitting the back of her throat. He grunted as ecstasy washed over him. Wave upon wave of heaven took him. He couldn't hold back as he used her mouth viciously, pumping sporadically until his orgasm ebbed away. Finally he was done and she let go of him with a wet pop. She was beautiful, smiling up at him, sweaty and glowing with her efforts to please him. And _boy _did she please him.

He knelt down to her level, bringing their foreheads together softly. "Sansa…I…don't know what to say." She giggled and said, "This isn't real silly." He blinked at her. Then he looked around and he was awake in his bedroom like before, but this time alone. Sansa was nowhere to be found. He looked down at his trousers and there was a large tent formed with a bit of stain on the front.

'Of course…it had all been a dream. A wonderful, stupid dream.' His head fell back in defeat as he groaned with frustration. His little bird was too good to be true, and he should always know that. He shouldn't allow himself such tormenting fantasies.

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Didja like? See any spelling or grammatical errors?


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